


How do you like your revenge, Domina?

by melitta4ever



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Angst, Breathplay, Captivity, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Torture, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Size Difference, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14135523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melitta4ever/pseuds/melitta4ever
Summary: Alternative timeline after Strike Back: Shadow Warfare, Episode 7.They say revenge is a dish best served cold. Well, Natalia Buzovia -Victor Ulyanov’s twin sister- likes her treats frozen, with lots of sauce of various kinds, from biting bitter to tearing spicy.Or... Michael Stonebridge is hand picked as a slave for underground fighting ring after his spectacular performance in Black Bear prison. His owner doesn't only want him to win in the arena. She wants him suffer while doing so.





	1. Missing

**Author's Note:**

> Once, I read this meme on Tumblr about levels of desperation for an otp; highest level being staring down an empty word document. Now, I know what they meant. Here I am, writing another Strike Back story, hoping it might tickle someone else's muse.
> 
> Please check the warnings. This isn't a fluffy story. It gets quite depressing sometimes and I put poor Michael through hell. You can even think of this as a kink meme fill with long plot.

“We've a problem.” Damien said as soon as he heard Locke’s greeting through the cheap phone, hoping his voice wasn't trembling like his hands. “Mikey is gone.”

“How in hell you managed to lose someone in a prison?” Despite the earful, Locke sounded calm and collected which was what Damien really needed at this point.

“He's taken from prison, boss. The guy I met says it's common occurrence for the ‘weak’ -whatever that means- to be taken by an Arab. Named Raza Hassan. But sometimes… he said sometimes really good fighters are taken too. And you know Mikey…he was impressive to say the least.”

He could hear Richmond's voice through the speaker, informing Reza Hassan's affiliation with Al Zuhari. Shit.

“Okay, okay.’ Locke was obviously talking to someone in the crib. “We'll start looking for Stonebridge right away.” He stopped for a moment, then continued with a grim voice. “Change of plans then. You have to take out Andersson, Scott.”

“Sir?” An assassination? Back to exactly what he was running away from.

“I want you to know that I'm not giving this order lightly.” said Locke. “But we can't risk him finish hacking in NATO drive, especially now that you're all alone there.” He stopped, his breath coming loud enough through the speaker to tell Damien there was something more. “And we have to find Stonebridge, right away.”

“There's something wrong with Mikey, isn't it?” He knew it was the case. He had known since the damn thing fucking started when Stonebridge of all people missed two fucking shots. He just didn't wanna believe his gut.

“His test results are back. He's exposed to a neurotoxin.”

“Fuck!” That sounded worse than anything he had come up with.

“Any seizures that you know of?”

“His arm was acting up. Also his eyes.” He couldn't help -or care any less- that his voice was now definitely trembling. Jesus! Neurotoxin, seizures... it sounded serious enough even without the morbid tone Locke informed the news.

“He doesn't have long, Damien. A day, maximum two. So, finish the objective by eliminating the hacker. Then start looking for Stonebridge. We have the antitoxin, waiting. We'll find him.”

“Yeah.” They had to.

“And Damien, you know they're gonna kill Andersson after he delivers. Probably he knows it too.”

“Yeah. He… He said they keep hostages. In an empty pool with military insignia.”

“Tell him we'll save his friends. We start working on it right away.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

TBC....


	2. Ludus Gladiatorius

He was cold. It was the first conscious thought that filled Michael's mind. He forced his eyes open, but all he could see was the white ceiling and even that wasn't clear. Was he drugged? He tried to remember what he was doing or where he was when he heard loud footsteps entering the room. Two big blobs, white and red, moved closer.

“He's no good,  _ Gospozha.” _ The white blob was a small guy in a white coat with a heavy accent that Michael couldn't place. “He inflicted by neurotoxin, die very soon.” He said, completely disregarding Michael, but obviously talking about him.

A blonde lady with a revealing red dress which would fit more in a nightclub than a hospital room entered Michael's field of view. Her face was somewhat familiar, but Michael couldn't trust his eyesight at the moment to pinpoint the resemblance.

“You're telling me, Doctor, that this man fought like a dream when he was actually half dead?” She said obviously to the doctor in the room, but her eyes and hands -fucking freezing hands- kept roaming on Michael's body. Naked body, he realized, slowly coming to his senses. Naked and bound very tight.

“Yes…” was the somewhat timid answer.

“Then, make him good. That's why I'm paying you top dollars, doctor. Heal him!” She stopped for a little while, then continued, “Vigo says he killed my brother, gotta thank him properly for that.”

  
  
  
  
  


Next time he opened his eyes, Michael could actually see. His memory was filled with holes; pieces of nightmarish scenes with people in white coats mixed with some femme fatale from 80s popping up in his mind, turning his unconscious experience to a B-class horror movie.

A little inspection told him that he was bound on something between a hospital bed and an interrogation table. The way his whole back body hurt, he must have been in the same position for quite some time. The binds were impossible to loosen let alone untie; he didn't have to spend too much time to figure that out. The room was not promising either; small, no windows, not much furniture that could be used as cover. There were some tools on the little desk at the corner though; he might find something sharp between them if he could free himself.

Next step was to remember as much as he could to assess his situation. He remembered being in the prison, with Scott. Shit! Where the hell was Scott? He remembered the fight to steal a cell phone. Then… He hadn't been feeling hundred percent, arm cramping, vision getting blurry. He remembered the blonde, _Gospozha,_ in the prison. The guards had pushed Michael down to his knees in front of her. She held his chin...Her hands…

Suddenly more memories filled his mind as if a dam broke down somewhere in his brain. They were rushing in, fast enough to turn him dizzy. She had been touching him. He could see her on top of him, laughing… Licking his chest... Her fingers with blood red, sharp nails pressing in his mouth… smelling like a foul mixture of nicotine, perfume and vagina. Nausea came like a flush flood, triggered by the memory of the smell alone. He threw up, barely managing to turn his head to side. The phantom sensation of pumping on his dick, slimy and sticky at the same time, made him keep gagging. His stomach was empty, but his body tried again and again as if it was trying to expel any trace of her. It took him a long time to compartmentalize his shock of feeling so deeply violated and to suppress the fucking nausea that kept raising. He had been trained for torture; he was supposed to be prepared for…for... Jesus Christ! He had never expected the perpetrator to be female though.

“You're awake.” A guy said happily, opening the only door of the room. “Mistress like it.” He was a short guy with a heavy accent, probably Serbian Michael reckoned.

“Where am I?” Michael asked, “What have you done to me?” He wasn't expecting any honest response but had to establish a basis anyway.

“You are in the infirmary of the Ludus. And  **I** saved your life.”

“Right.”

“Neurotoxin killed you almost. You remember infected? Almost dead, but Mistress wanted you alive.” He explained, while checking a bandage on his head. Surprisingly, what he said made a lot of sense. Michael was sure neurotoxin could very well be the keyword to explain most, if not all, of his suffering in the last couple of weeks.

“What happened to my head?” Michael asked, almost sure it couldn't be related to neurotoxin treatment.

“Mistress will explain that.” was the only answer he got. “Just…” He turned back and checked the door first, then continued in whisper, “That pin hurts, don't make her angry.”

“Talking about me, Doctor.” Michael saw the women from his memory. Dirty blonde, blue eyes, hawkish nose… Dressed in an expensive looking navy blue suit, she looked very different from the nightmarish visions; except the glint in her eyes.

“I was…just checking... _ Gospozha.”  _ The doctor stuttered which the blonde disregarded with a flick of her hand

“Hello,  _ Maykl _ .” She smiled, maroon red lips shining under the fluorescent light. “About time. I am Natalia Buzova.” She said expectantly.

Michael rose his eyebrows, indicating neither the face nor the name meant anything to him.

“Last name confuses you. Virgin last name different, Ulyanov. I believe you know my father.” Her smile turned sinister, “and my brother.” She then turned back to the doctor, “Everything alright?”

“Yes,  _ Gospozha.  _ He healed good. The implant should work fine.”

“Lets try, doctor.”

The doctor placed a wide choker collar around his neck with a big, heavy plastic barrel.

“That's the battery and it is puncture proof.” She explained while the doctor was locking the damn thing in place. “That means if you try to damage, it sends maximum power to the chip.”

“What chip?”

“This.” She said with a grin, then pressed a tiny button on a small keychain. Michael’s world exploded with pain that he had never felt before; debilitating, excruciating pain that rose from each and every single nerve end. He couldn't even scream; his muscles got tightened to their limit and some, as if trying to burst through his skin in order to escape the torture.

“Breathe, soldier.” She stepped right next to him. The pain was gone as suddenly as it had come, but his body was still suffering the aftershocks. He threw up again, bile burning his esophagus and nose. “Aww, pressed a bit too long, huh?” She asked mockingly. “I had to though, the first time. So that you know what that little pin in your brain does. All the pain and none of the consequences of conventional torture.” She explained with fake enthusiasm as if in a cheap TV commercial. He could almost hear Damien taunting her:  _ Call in next half hour and we cut half the price and the shipping is on us. Enjoy your hellish torture. _ “Unless, of course, I keep on pressing. In that case, your bones start breaking with stress. First, your beautiful teeth shutter.” The joy she was obviously feeling while talking about broken bones was eery; she was a true sadist. “It's genius actually, the doctor will explain it all if you're interested.” She looked back at the shifty, little guy, “He could've made it big in Europe if it wasn't for his taste for little girls.”

“ **Young** girls.” The doctor corrected, “You make me sound like a pervert.”

“You **are** a pervert, Doctor. But this is a no judgement facility, don't worry.” She smiled again watching involuntary tremors still randomly popping up in different parts of Michael's body; her hands pressing ever so lightly to the twitching muscles with a glee. “Ohhh, your body is a work of art,  _ Maykl.  _ I'm gonna enjoy our time immensely.”

“Haven't you already done that?” Michael asked, even through the aftereffects of the torture he couldn't help the accusation.

“Oh, you remember. How sweet! But that was nothing,  _ moya lyubov'.  _ That was just taster, yes?”

She, then turned toward the door and yelled in Russian. Two big goons entered to the small room and freed Michael from the bed after the doctor removed his catheter. Standing up was near impossible, partly because of the muscle spasms that still wreaked havoc on his body but mostly due to prolonged bed rest. The guards kept him up; all Michael could do was trying to keep his feet under him. He tried to memorize the building, but they left it soon enough; stepping out to a very large courtyard. While the building they had left looked pretty modern inside, from the courtyard it was as if they were surrounded by history. Kerry would have known the period architecture and all, but it looked just plain old to Michael’s ignorant eyes.

“Victor started this.” Natalia gestured the walls surrounding them, embellished with some insignia that Michael couldn't recognize. “His pet project. And since it made fuckton of money,  _ Papa _ pretend blind.” Michael still wasn't sure what the crazy woman was talking about, but he didn't ask. He'd figure out soon enough. “My brother was all about authenticity, manliness and the money. I… I took a special interest in training and punishments.” They entered another building surrounding the courtyard; filled with burly dudes clad only with loincloth. That's when what doctor had said,  _ Ludus, _ finally made sense.

“Gladiators.” He said, not really believing his eyes... “You organize gladiator fights?” Fucking rich, spoiled brats.

_ “Gladiatora Munera _ !” She corrected. “Not fights or games. Victor was obsessed about authenticity as I said, these things were important to him.” She grinned. Everywhere they passed, men were kneeling for Natalia and she was fucking preening under spotlight.

“Your fellow gladiators will explain the rules. I'll see you very soon,  _ moya lyubov'.”  _ She said with a kiss that burned Michael's skin. Then, the goons threw him into a cell and left.

  
  
  
  


Even sitting down was a challenge and Michael was tired beyond what he thought was humanly possible; but he had to start moving. He tried lying face down first -trying not to think about the filth covering the ground- then moving up to staying on hands and knees. Muscle control came slowly, very slowly through the residual cramps that kept popping now and again. He saw a pair of bare feet right at the entrance of his cell when he was on his way to standing up.

“Hello!” Michael rose his head to meet the owner of the voice. A big dude, like everyone in here, dark hair, brown eyes and curiously small nose.

“Hi.” He answered, no need to be rude just yet.

“May I come in?” His guest asked.

“Sure.” Good, it seemed he had some level of control in his cell.

“It's the first dose of the chip, right?” He continued when Michael nodded, “We all been there. Ain't no fun. If you like, I'll give you a massage; it helps a little.”

The idea of hands touching his body was nauseating enough. He shook his head.

“Name Sam.” The guy extended his hand. “I'd bring something to eat, but you have to wait for few hours after the chip.” He continued gesturing his neck, “The spasms might cause suffocation.”

“Michael.” he accepted the handshake and saw the intricate tattoo on the guy's arm. “Is that SEAL Trident?”

“Yeah,  _ The only easy day was yesterday _ .” Sam smiled reciting the motto. “Many here are from special forces around the world. You are?”

“SBS.”

“Guessed so with that cool accent.” He smiled again, broad and joyful.

“You were captured in Russia too?” Michael asked when he finally managed to rise on his feet. If special ops had kept losing men in the same country, there might be ongoing investigation.

“No, in Afghanistan. Insurgents sold me to the Ludus.”

“You were in active duty?”

“Yeah. But the situation was not pretty. I wouldn't blame anyone if they labeled me MIA assumed dead right away.” Sam explained casually.

“Do I wanna ask you how long ago that was.” Michael asked; an active duty special forces being stuck in this place wasn't really good news.

“Not really. But I'm gonna tell you anyways. One and a half year. I found a buddy of mine here, thought he was dead for a year. So, to answer your next question, no one suspects anything, dude. And no one is coming.” He wasn't smiling anymore. “Unless your situation is different.” He asked, hope shining in his eyes.

“No.” Michael answered after a moment. “I don't think so.”

He learned a lot from Sam that day. At least they weren't looking for a death sentence. The fights were meant to entertain the rich gamblers, not to maim or to the death. And if anyone got injured, there was a pretty good infirmary with a genius, albeit pervert, doctor to take care of them.

“You could even say life is good considering all the other places I've been to as a prisoner.” Sam said, “Just…”

“Don't piss of the crazy lady?” Michael finished his sentence.

“Exactly.” He laughed; easy going and relaxing despite the somber topic. “She's bad news, dude. It wasn't too bad before, but Victor isn't around recently and that means there is no one holding her back.” He stopped for a moment. “If it wasn't for the drugs…”

“What drugs?” Michael asked instead of giving the bad news of how Victor wasn't coming back, ever.

“You think I was this buffed up before coming here?” Sam explained flexing his chest muscles playfully, “They fill us up with steroids and what not, dude. You end up big and wanna fight or fuck all the freaking time.” He stopped for a spell, his eyes trained on Michael's body. “All the fucking time.” Michael chose to ignore the offer dripping from the last sentence and luckily Sam got the message.

So, a pin into the brain and hormones to the blood, that should be fun. Damien would get pissed when he learned how he missed something this crazy.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Google says,
> 
> Gospozha: Mistress
> 
> moya lyubov': my love


	3. Furnace

The building looked abandoned; windows missing, doors broken, walls covered with grime and graffiti. And completely quiet. It didn't look like it was holding bunch of civilians and their guards. Richmond and Martinez was silent so far and waiting was killing Damien, quite literally if what’s said about stress was true.

“You must be used to being in the front line.* The crazy FSB agent commented, “Take a deep breath.”

“I'm not used to being partnered with someone who doesn't have fucking common sense, lady. That's all.”

“Are you still angry with me for-”

Thankfully Richmond’s voice cut into their conversation, “Zero, this is Bravo 2. Hostages secure. We lost Reza Hassan.”

“Copy that Bravo 2. Bravo 1, do you see the target?”

That's when the Mercedes SUV passed right in front of them. “That's a positive, Zero. We're on him.” Damien answered; finally something was going their way.

“Scott, please don't kill him.” Locke asked, sounding like he didn't have much hope on the matter. “We need him to take us to their main camp.”

“Roger that, Zero.” It wouldn't be too hard, he hoped, now that Michael wasn't around to kill the bastards. But it wasn't the time to think about the trigger happy Brit. Hassan was going to take them to the mystery facility, Damien was going to find Michael there and stick him with the anti-toxin extra fucking hard for making Damien go through this fucking torture.

  
  
  
  


 

Fucked. Cluster-fuck. FUBAR. It was as if Al Zuhari had known section 20 was breathing at their neck. Bastards were ready at Drezna. Kamali got captured even though he managed to kill Ulyanov during the skirmish. Section 20 managed to secure the weaponized smallpox samples but there was no vaccine or cure to speak of. No clue left to where the fuck Al Zuhari was hiding. And most importantly, no Michael.

“Hey!” Richmond stepped next to him, her face bearing bad news.

“Did they… Michael?” He couldn't bring himself to articulate the question.

“No.” She hurried, “but they found a furnace, Damien. It's been used to burn bodies.”

“Fuck me!”

“The amount of ash… might be dozens burned there… no way of knowing if Michael one of… if he's been here.”

“Don't fucking care, Julia.” He snapped, “If there is a snowball chance that he's alive-”

“I've been working with him for years, Damien, before you showed up.” Julia interrupted, “Don't think you are the only one feeling the pain.” That's when Damien looked at her, really looked and saw the tears she was working hard to reign in.

“I'm sorry.” He leaned forward and pulled Julia into his arms. “I'm sorry.”

“He always came back, Damien. I thought he was invincible, you know. Nothing could stop him, never… But seeing the furnace...” She whispered, then visibly shook and collected herself. “Doesn't mean I'm gonna give up looking for him. It's just…”

“I know…” He knew exactly what she meant.

TBC...


	4. Bogatyr

It had been one week in the _Ludus,_ as they called their prison, and the concoction of drugs he had been fed steadily was already pushing Michael to the walls. The training they were going through was brutal even with the presence of the steroids they had been pumped with. He felt drained every night, exhausted with seemingly never ending sets of deadlifts and squats. Still, he was always ready to fight for the smallest things. And he couldn't manage to rest until he jerked off a few times. Every night. Few times. He had thought he would never see those days again after the teenage years: urges impossible to satisfy, seemingly limitless supply of jizz and a fuse so short that it bordered at psychotic. At nights he could hear some of his fellow captives fucking each other, and being gay or bi or whatever sounded better and better every passing day.

The show night, as they called the fights, was the worst though. He didn't fight in the arena, hadn't been deemed ready yet by the trainer, but he still got the extra dose of the concoction with the others it seemed. He was furious with no apparent reason; annoyed with even the way people breathed. He wanted to bump -more like break- heads; do something, anything to calm the restlessness that made him shook to the core. The lust, on the other hand, had turned into something tangible almost, like a foggy mist in a London morning, covering his whole body, inside and out. And humping the walls started to seem like a wonderfully acceptable idea. That must be why all the prisoners were shackled in the waiting area, to stop them fighting or fucking each other before the show.

That night there were girls, offered to the winners and shared by everyone. Except Michael. There was a fucking orgy going on with silicone tits on oiled bodies and the guards kept him shackled in the middle of it for some reason. He hadn't been this horny even going through puberty, but still… still he was actually grateful for the shackles. This way, he didn't have to hold himself from joining such a disgraceful act. He truly was, until guards pulled him away to see _Gospozha._

  
  
  
  


The room he was taken was big. The rows of wall lights were so warm they gave the illusion that the room was illuminated by torches. The number of BDSM furniture scattered around, including the bondage chair he was tied to, didn't leave any questions on what the room was for. Michael was mentally preparing himself for the promised interaction with Natalia when he heard the door open and a girl who looked way too young to do anything in a place like this entered his field of view. He could hear the second pair of footsteps, the high heels on cement floor, and guessed Natalia was in too.

The girl stood next to him; raven black hair falling over her face, covering her pretty features. Quietly and quickly, she started to stroke Michael, not paying any attention to the way he tried to protest with his mouth plugged with a damn gag. Her hands were soft, no calluses, no dry spots; tiny and delicate. She was handling him gently but insistently, causing his traitor dick to harden -even more so than what counted as normal these days. Combination of the drugs and her gentle prodding, he was ready to pop. That's when Natalia came into the picture and put a fucking torture device at the root of his penis; clamping him tight, way too tight.

“This will help you stay hard and big for me as long as I want.” she claimed, her long nails scratching along his dick, leaving red lines after their wake. “I waited long time for tonight.” She, then, removed the gag, standing right over his head. “You know, when I press this…” The pain from the chip was paralyzing, but luckily it was short this time. “...when you're eating me, all I feel is a nice tingling. So, don't make me.” She smiled. That beautiful face looking impossibly cruel. “Now you eat me, nice and slow. You make me happy, I won't press. You don't…” she pressed the button longer this time, leaving Michael panting in agony.

 _“Lizat' yego._ ” She ordered the young girl, to which she responded by kneeling at the end of the table between his legs and then working on his balls. Wet, soft, tiny kitten licks…sprinkled with even softer suction. Michael could feel his nuts working even harder, getting impossibly fuller with every flick of that tongue. His dick was throbbing now; beating synchronized with his heart.

Natalia stepped over and pushed her trimmed pussy into Michael's face. It wasn't like she was dirty; still, he couldn't help but gag to the smell that had became the essence of his latest nightmares.

“As I expected. Need more incentive than pain.” She said climbing back down from the table. “You know, my dad has a folder prepared on you guys. I've read yours. It's comprehensive. Probably stuff even you weren't aware of. And every single comment mentions what a fine soldier you are. Perfect hero.” She continued with her manicured nails moving over his pectorals. “A modern day _Bogatyr._ I am a bit, how to say? Sceptic?” She smiled, but not with her eyes. She, then, whispered something to the girl who was still working on Michael's nether regions. Poor girl started crying.

“Miry needs punishment. She slept with one of my gladiators without my consent. She says she was afraid of the guy, but she should be afraid of me more.”

Miry climbed up the table, then, with furtive looks to Natalia she crawled on Michael.

“You are big!” Natalia commented with a gleam in her blue eyes. She said something to Miry upon which the girl placed her arm next to Michael's dick. “Almost as big as her forearm, if you don't count her hand.” Shit! Forearm might be an exaggeration but not too far off. Michael had never been this big before. He wasn't sure if it was due to the drugs or the torture ring that turned his organ almost purple, but his penis looked scary big even to his own eyes.

Another whisper and Miry sat on his dick, forcing herself down, trying to avoid angering the psycho lady in the room. She was surely too small for someone in Michael's size, but it seemed that no one other than him thought that was an issue. When she was finally, impossibly, down, she pulled her own nipple rings, effectively pulling her petite breasts away from her delicate body.

That's when Michael saw the skewer in Natalia's hand. She placed the tip to side of Miry’s tit, pushing slightly. “They say it hurts more, if I push slow. But, don't know. They scream same to me.” She said grinning, while pushing the skewer slowly but forcefully into Miry's flesh.

“Don't.” Michael asked,then corrected immediately, “Ma’am, please don't.”

Natalia only smiled and pushed more. Poor girl screamed and screamed while the whole thing tore a way to itself through her flesh until it reached the other side. Her already cramped cunt squeezed Michael like a fucking vise during the process; painfully cutting the circulation in his dick. She didn't let go of the rings though.

“I have eleven more of these.” Natalia said, flicking the skewer embedded in Miry's breast. “but I might cut her punishment less if I'm in a really good mood. You got it?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Oh, Michael understood it well.

“Good, let's try again.”

This time, Michael opened his mouth and tried to be as welcoming as he could manage.

“Much better. Maybe you are really a hero, my warrior. Saving a girl from pain is more important than your own.” She stopped for a long groan. “Use your tongue. Yes, like that, _v tochku!_ ”

She was already leaking; her juice dripping down Michael's chin and neck, coating him with slime and with that fucking stench that he was sure he would never, ever forget.

“Do you know what came to my mind when I heard someone killed my brother?” She spoke as if she wasn't sitting on Michael's face, grinding herself on his tongue. “The way he sounded when he raped me. Didn't think about it for years.” She started moving more forcefully. “We were 15, fooling around. Knew we weren't supposed to. Not even with a stranger let alone my sibling, my twin. But it was much fun. His hands made me feel good. Until he started pushing. He pushed. And pushed. It hurt a lot but he didn't stop. Didn't slow down. I didn't realize until then how stronger he grew. He came inside me, moaning. That moan was in my mind when I heard him dead.” And she came screaming and squirting; covering Michael's face and neck with another coat of her slime.

She stepped down. Michael now could see Miry, still pulling her nipples away from her body, trying to balance on Michael's dick which by now turned into a burning pillar of pain.

“But that experience taught me something.” Natalia was behind the bed, opening and closing the cupboards while talking merrily, “the power behind rape is intoxicating.” She moved back to Michael's side, wearing a strap on with a monster dildo. Miry started to shake when Natalia ordered something in Russian that Michael totally missed. Poor girl slowly lay down on top of Michael; obviously getting ready for double penetration. Natalia was going to kill her.

"Ma'am.” He tried his best, pleading to the psychopath. “Can't I do something? Anything?”

“Do you want to take her place?” Natalia asked giddily. “You offering your ass for my cock?”

“Yes.” He jumped to the possibility, the size of the thing was scary yes, but it might be fatal for someone in Miry's size. Michael was a big boy, he could take it. “Please, ma'am, fuck me instead.”

“No.” She said after giggling like a school girl, “but you pleased me, so I'll go easy on her.” She stood behind Miry, then started pushing in her ass. The ridges on the dildo was prodding Michael's dick through the thin membrane of Miry's vagina, biting into his agonized organ, squeezing it even more. “Victor stopped playing with me after that, you know. Probably forgot about it too when he could get any girl he wanted in high school. But I couldn't. There wasn't any boy who wasn't scared of my _papa._ ” She started fucking Miry in a slow rhythm. “Some boys even cried in fear when I kissed them.” She laughed, “ _Papa_ was overprotective until I got married. Didn't care much afterwards. Cared even less after I killed my husband. And now, I can fuck his men in front of him, he wouldn't even look because he got blind with pain of losing his son.”

Michael almost could hear the jokes Damien would make in this situation, about dysfunctional families and sibling rivalries. Michael didn't voice any of them though. Natalia was not right in the head, that was certain. Michael just wasn't sure if she was always like that or losing her twin brother completely severed her ties to sanity.

Miry started grunting in pain, her tears and saliva covering Michael's chest. Michael suspected that the wetness increasing over his hips might also be her blood, but the way Natalia was leaking, he couldn't be sure.

“But do you know what is more intoxicating than raping small, powerless girls?” Natalia asked. “Doing it to the soldiers who can kill with their bare hands.” She said, pulling Miry's head to side and locking her ice blue eyes with Michael's. “Make them beg for mercy.”

“Please, Ma’am.” Michael, getting the message loud and clear, begged as best as he could. “She can't take it anymore. Please.”

“Please what?” She pushed in again, forcing a quickly swallowed scream from Miry.

“Please use me instead. Fuck me instead. Please, I beg of you. I'll do anything. Anything.”

“Keep going.” She ordered and Michael did. He begged as much as he could, as sincerely as he could. He promised to be a great fuck, make it good for her, to lick her, eat her, take her body parts in him… Finally, Natalia listened to his pleading. She stopped with a curt order to Miry.  The girl tried getting up and away from Michael but her legs were not functioning properly. Natalia dragged her away. Poor girl was bleeding Michael observed, not sure from where.

“I hope she learned her lesson.” Natalia said after leaving Miry crying in the corner.

She then climbed on top of Michael and pushed herself on his engorged dick with a single move. It was beyond painful on his tortured dick, but still felt good. The chemically induced lust kept persisting even through the pain, the blood curdling speech and the torture scene he had witnessed.

 _“Jebátʹ!”_ She screamed, “You are big. Huge.” She pushed herself even deeper. “I wish I could trust you enough to free you. You could fuck me good, right?”

“Yes, Ma'am.”

“Soon, very soon, _Maykl.”_

She fucked him as if she was using a dildo for her pleasure. And thanks to the drugs, even though he was aching and nauseous, the pussy around his penis felt good. Great even. He was convinced he could come regardless the torture ring biting into his flesh. He could almost taste his release back in his throat. He just needed a little bit more. Just…

Natalia came one more time; screaming, her nails scraping his skin. She ordered something to poor Miry while getting off of the table.

“Let's wait a bit longer for yours, huh?” She chuckled, then placed the ice bag that Miry brought on Michael's abused dick. The ice bag felt colder than it had any right to be on his inflamed skin and Michael had to bite his tongue to stop screaming. Or worse, begging for a release. He was too cold to feel anything when Natalia finally removed the cock ring. And his penis deflated fast under the frigid conditions.

“I don't want you to get wrong idea, _Maykl_. I didn't hate my brother. I loved him. And you're gonna suffer for killing him. Suffer so beautifully…” She said and locked him in a spiky cage, two sizes too small for him. “Next week, we won't need to use Miry. You'll beg me all your own for a release. Any release. And you'll get one if you win all your fights. Now, be a good soldier and tend to Miry, good?”

“I think..” He had to cough to be able to speak through his dried mouth. “Ma'am. I think she needs a doctor.”

“My doctor's time is way too valuable to spend on a stupid girl. And she's too old for his taste to do for free.”  She dodged the request while putting on her dress without any underwear. “You trained for field emergency. You do it.” And she left, clicking a single button to release Michael from the chair.

Miry was out of her mind with fear, but she let Michael to check her breasts and anus. As much as he could see, she was torn a little but didn't need stitches. And she didn't look like she was suffering internal bleeding, so he only used disinfectant to clean her wounds and covered them with clean gauze. She looked even younger now; eyes red, lips swollen, covered only with a paper blanket.

 _“Spasibo bolshoe_!” She thanked Michael timidly and kissed his fingertips before leaving. That kiss hurt more than his throbbing penis.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lizat' yego : Lick him
> 
> Bogatyr : Russian equivalent of Knight in shining armor
> 
> v tochku! : Exactly
> 
> Jebátʹ : fuck
> 
> Spasibo bolshoe : thank you very much


	5. Can't Stop

“What do you mean we stop looking for Michael?” Damien couldn't control the volume of his voice; you didn't leave man behind. Never.

“What do you want me to do, Damien?” Locke didn't sound like his usual composed self. “Give me a single clue, trace, anything to start.” He was feeling guilty, Damien could tell.

“We can't find a trail if we’re not looking, boss.”

“Then give me a single reason why you think he's alive, Sergeant. You think Al Zuhari, or whoever the fuck got him, gave him a general check up, found he was infected and then treated him for the neurotoxin. Really?” Damien didn't have an answer to that. All he had was the gut feeling that Michael was alive. There had to be a sign, something. A soldier like Stonebridge couldn't be gone without a disturbance in the force. Especially after turning Damien to a Star Wars geek.

Locke continued with conviction, “We have responsibilities. Al Zuhari has a nasty bioweapon and he has some insider info on NATO. We have to stop him.”

“No, sir!” Damien replied after a spell. “ **You** have a responsibility to stop him. I quit.”

“Are you seriously quilting while-”

“Give me a single clue, trace, anything to start looking for Al Zuhari, sir.” Damien parroted the words back. “We lost all intel, lost Kamali… if he hadn't shot Ulyanov we might’ve had a chance through the bastard, but that door is closed too.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, then Locke exhaled loudly.

“I see.” He smiled one of his half smiles.

“I'm sorry, boss.” Damien took a step back. It probably was really hard on Locke too. “I… I have to.”

“I understand, Damien.” He said shaking his hand. “Good luck, Sergeant Scott.”

He nodded and left. Richmond was waiting for him in the corridor. “Anything you need, Damien. I'm just a call away. Anything.”

“I will. Thanks.”

He left without looking back. He had once confessed to Michael that Section 20 was what saved him from becoming a useless, total asshole who got lost in his personal demons. He hadn't been completely honest, he realized; not with Michael, not with himself either. Section 20 didn't mean shit, now that Michael was missing. Actually missing. Not a phone call away, enjoying life with his pretty wifey. Not waiting with a cold one or a hot cuppa’ whenever Damien had a break between seemingly pointless opps. Missing.

Now, it was time to keep that promise he had made to Major Pirogova. The diamonds he nicked from the Scottish bastard might be a huge help in finding Michael, but they were not gonna help him learn Russian in matter of days. He needed local help.

“Hello, Nina. I'm planning a visit to  _ Rossiya.” _

 

TBC...


	6. For Fallen Comrades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natalia is racist, just so you know. Also, graphic descriptions of violence in epic proportions. Also, I love comments.

The MC’s voice was booming through the speakers, garbled as if they were in an amateur tournament in Tottenham, not in a million dollar entertainment gig for Russian royalty. Still, it somehow managed to made the spectators go wild with every single word. Michael had stopped trying to catch what's being said long ago; he was convinced he might not understand it, even if it was in English.

“Tonight we have a special show:  _ Vozmezdiye _ .” explained Natalia materializing right next to him as if Michael would care about  _ The Retribution _ . She might have sensed his indifference because she continued; pouting like a school girl, “You didn't miss me,  _ Maykl?” _  She had to be the center of universe, always.

Michael did miss -not necessarily  **her** per se- but catching a fucking break from the cock cage. Natalia had been away and no one was allowed to remove the damned device. For almost two weeks, Michael had been steadily leaking like a broken faucet -or maybe like a woman, he wasn't sure if ladies felt leaky all the time- and his nuts hurt like a mother. He suspected his success in the arena tonight had been fueled by the thundering frustration. Yeah, he might call it missing, in a nutshell.

“Of course I did, ma'am.” He said, hoping to be in her good grace to catch a fucking break.

“I was away for an important work,  _ moya lyubov' _ .” She cooed, like they were fucking sweethearts. “I captured today's convict. Look!” She nudged him toward the arena. Shit! It was Kamali, beaten and bruised.

“What? No… Ma'am…” Michael was the winner of tonight's games. He was supposed to carry out the sentence. “Please. He's a friend.”

“Aww, I love it when you force yourself to be courteous.” She whispered putting her hands on Michael's shoulder and lifting herself up to whisper in his ear. “He is sentenced to death for killing my dad and for being a stinky Arab terrorist.”

“No, ma'am. He isn't a terrorist. He-”

“Shhh. I'm actually doing you a favor,  _ Maykl _ .” She placed a finger on his lips to shush him. “He was not playing a terrorist. He was playing  **you** .” When Michael tried to explain how Kamali was actually an agent working for them, she stopped him. “Not believing me?” She showed him a video at her phone; Kamali’s execution by Al-Zuhari’s men for treason.

“What is this?” He asked even when the ugly truth slowly dawned upon him. But it couldn't be.

“I don't know why he needed it? But he is not dead, see. I know more. You can learn a lot from sleeping with devout men.” She whispered as if sharing a secret. “They don't know how to impress a woman in bed, so they like to boast. And devout Arabs…” She stopped for a little theatrics, eyes toward the sky, hands all over the place, “they think women can't even drive a car alone, so they don't even think about keeping secrets.” Michael waited patiently; Natalia loved boasting too, she would come to her point eventually. “His best friend, Qassem, bragged on and on about how only two people arranged a big operation. And how Kamali was the planner, yes, but it was him did all the groundwork. Right under the nose of Americans and Brits.”

“Al Zuhari-” Michael started but Natalia cut him again.

“Dead for months.” She moved in front of him, watching people throwing shit on Kamali, playing a sick game of dart, “So… I'm doing you a favor, no? As far as I know he killed some of your guys.”

“Yeah.” Answered Michael, Baxter’s bloody face in his mind, next to Dalton's broken body. How the hell had they fallen into his traps?

“You make him suffer and I might let you go without a cage for a few days. Oh, almost forgot. Kamali is also guilty of killing my brother.” Michael hadn't expected that. “Being a slimy two faced terrorist, he pinned it on two soldiers that were after him.” She smiled innocently, which was a totally alien look on that face. “So, my uncle” she pointed the guy watching the games from a throne, “won't come after your buddy or you.”

“I don't know what to say, ma'am.”

“Just thank me extra hard tonight.” She grabbed his caged member and squeezed his bursting balls. “Extra-extra hard.”

  
  
  
  
  


“You fucking son of a bitch!” He greeted Kamali.

“So, that's where you've been hiding Michael.” The bastard smiled through his broken teeth, lisping over every other syllable. “Lover boy was pretty upset over losing you.”

“You really-”

“Save it. I don't expect you to understand me.”

“Yeah…” There was no understanding in Michael's heart now. “I'm gonna kill you.” He said, throwing back the sword he was supposed to use in execution, “but I'm not gonna make it easy.”

Leo Kamali wasn't in any shape to fight against Michael, not even before what he had been through last few days. Not that it mattered. The crowd, that booed Michael when he had thrown the sword, started chanting as soon as he started beating Kamali up, bare-handed. He had to try really hard to control his punches, so that Kamali wouldn't get knocked out too soon. Still, after couple of fists to his ugly face and a few to his gut, the bastard was down.

“Dalton knew the truth when she was dying.” wheezed Kamali, hands wrapped around his torso. “I made sure the bitch knew.”

“Yeah?” Michael asked right before stamping on Kamali's right ankle and shattering the joint under his foot. Kamali’s scream got lost in the crowd's cheers. “She knew it from the start, mate. I don't think she was surprised.” He did the same thing to the left ankle, with a bit more force, enough to cause tiny pieces of broken bones to fly in a mist of blood.

He circled around writhing body, letting him suffer this particular pain before moving on for more. Kamali deserved much more. The bastard had killed every single person who had worked for him so that no one could compromise his plans, starting from Colombia when he had shot Gomez. The ones he couldn't kill, he made sure someone else did his dirty work, in the case of handsy Leatherby.

When he was sure Kamali wouldn't go into shock with further pain, he held his right hand.

“You shot Baxter with this hand.” He said; breaking the fingers, wrist and elbow with one quick wrench. “So, this one, I'm doing for Dalton.” He applied the same technique to the left one; this time the crowd fell silent to hear the ear splitting crack that was echoing back from the walls surrounding the arena. He, then, looked at the throne, where Ulyanov’s brother was posturing like a fucking king. The guy gave a thumb down with a grin, sending the spectators into a wild roar.

Michael grabbed Kamali's head and lifted him up to his back. He dangled from Michael's hands like a worm on a hook, couldn't even ease the strain on his cursed neck thanks to his broken feet.

“They don't look for you, you know.” He still managed to whisper between his wheezing and grunting. “Assumed dead.”

Michael didn't answer, just threw him over his shoulder to the wall, breaking his fucking neck on the process. The broken body slid down to ground, leaving a bloody trail behind it. He, then, kneeled down as he was supposed to and hailed the masters of the arena; listening to the cheers of the crowd for the barbaric show he had performed.

He knew Kamali was telling the truth this time. Michael had tried to silence the thought that the neurotoxin must have showed up in his test results. But if that was the case, which was pretty fucking likely, then no one would think there was any chance he was alive. No one would look for him. That was the only explanation for why Scott hadn't broken into this place yet, guns blazing and cursing like a drunken sailor. 

  
  
  
  
  


The day after the game night was relatively easy. And Michael was grateful for it. As if fighting for hours in the arena was not enough, he had been with Natalia for the rest of the night. Thinking about that churned his stomach, but the lust had been so incredibly powerful when Natalia had removed the cage that he hadn't care then. He hadn't cared that her scent made him nauseous. Didn't care that she held onto the remote control, modified to a dead man switch that could kill Michael if she let go. He didn't even try to get rid of the binds that locked his arms. He just fucked Natalia on top of that table, fast and hard. Pumped into her, again and again, focusing on his release after incredibly long weeks. And he repeated his performance again and again until she was finally satisfied. His legs had been shaking with exhaustion by the time he had been let go.

After two weeks in the damned cage, the sensation of his penis being free was almost strange and definitely distracting. He kept getting hard all day long without a rhyme or reason. And by the time the night rolled, he was horny as hell, again. He had rubbed one out lying on his bed, but his dick was saluting yet again and Michael wanted more. He was ready to go find Sam and accept his offer. He couldn't see any reason not to.  If Michael could do his torturer, he sure could do a dude too. Sam had hinted he was willing several times, especially one time that he confessed how much he wanted to gag on Michael's dick, very explicitly. Michael still remembered the American's guffaw when Michael revealed his locked organ. “ _ The fuck you did to deserve this, dude?” _ He had asked, laughing like it was the funniest thing he had witnessed in his whole life.

He was trying to make up his mind on how to open up the subject to Sam, his door knocked. It wasn't Sam or any other gladiators as he had expected, but Natalia's petite slave girl, Miry.

“ _ Zakhodi _ .” He invited her in. She had made a habit of showing up in his cell; bringing snacks, magazines and in a very special occasion a bottle of vodka which increased Michael's reputation between the other gladiators to great highs.

_ “Lyubovnitsa prislala menya _ .” She said, entering the room. “Mistress sent me.”

The first thing Michael could think of was that Natalia ordering him for another late night entertainment. But, Miry started to undress in his cell, negating his presumption.

“ _ Miry, net!”  _ Michael tried stopping her, “What the hell are you doing?”

“I have to,  _ Maykl. _ ” She begged with her broken English. “Please.” She stopped and removed her underwear too, then continued with a smile, “I want. Really.”

Yeah, Michael suspected that. She'd been friendly with couple of other guys here too, but with Michael... Miry behaved more like a lovesick puppy around him. Michael had known it for a while but it had never been a problem so far thanks to him being safely locked in a cage. Now, though.

“No.” He pulled his blanket over her shoulders, trying to cover her up.

“You not want me? Please…” Her eyes, sad and afraid, begged him.

And Michael understood. If Natalia ordered something, you didn't go around and deny her. He still remembered the last time Miry paid the price, vividly.

“I make good. Please,  _ Maykl. _ ”

Michael knew he was going to fold even before Miry started begging. And as much as he wanted to put all the blame on Natalia, he also knew he was so horny that he might have said yes even without her influence.

She was eager to say the least. She kept kissing him, her mouth tiny and sweet. No traces of nicotine which was a nice break. She didn't smell like wearing any heavy perfume either; only  something fleeting, sweet and flowery; her shampoo or body lotion maybe.

She was a petite girl, tiny compared to Michael's 6’ 1”; but young and very, very enthusiastic. She started licking her way down to Michael's dick, mouth leaving a wet trail behind that sent shivers to his spine in the warm night. She pushed him down on the bed and knelt between his legs.

“I want so much.” She said, locking her eyes with him right before sucking his cock.

She felt great. Her mouth wet and soft, making him forget everything other than the pleasure he was blessed with. He grabbed her hair; enjoying the softness between his fingers he gently guided her mouth. Jesus! He didn't know how he had survived the last two weeks. He came in her mouth, not too long after starting. That was the way with the drugs though. He would be ready before she got bored.

“Your hands… so big.” She said, licking his fingers. “Strong.”

He directed said fingers toward her clit, gently prodding the small nub. She fell apart; threw her head back, moaning.

“Kiss me,  _ pozhaluysta.” _ She begged and Michael complied. He could taste himself in her mouth, but her sweetness too. She pushed his head to her neck, a powerfully erogenous region if the way she cried and writhed under him was any indication.

He let her rest a bit afterwards, not sure if she was willing to continue or not.

“On me?” She asked, and Michael understood her intention mostly by hand gestures that she wanted him to be on top.

“Yeah. Okay.” He was hard again, the way she sounded and moved had been enough stimulation.

He climbed on top of her and guided his dick inside. It was different this time. The painful squeeze that was crushing his dick was nowhere to be found. Now, she was soft there too, inviting and welcoming. Still, he forced himself to go slow, heeding each and every fold that was expanding under his dick. When he was finally all the way in, his balls resting on her cushiony bottom, he checked with her. She was looking at him with such adoration and awe that it scared him a little. Then, her small arms pulled him down, pulled his head to her neck and he started pumping, forgetting all about that look.

He enjoyed her immensely. An oasis through his lust filled days. The difference between the hateful, disgusting shagging with Natalia and this, actual, honest to God, love making was vast, like day and night. When he came, he felt satisfied for the first time in months.

They lay down side to side. Michael was seriously considering if thanking someone for a great fuck would be bad taste.

“I wish I have your babies.” She said out of nowhere, her delicate hands patting her belly. She looked at him smiling, “Strong boy, like you.”

Fuck! Oh, fuck. He didn't even consider the possibility while emptying his balls into her depth. Or Natalia's, for several times, for that matter.

“Are you… not protecting?” He asked, hoping it didn't sound accusatory.

“No.” She said, looking sweet and naive. “I want to have babies.” She smiled, obviously not seeing anything wrong in the idea; her eyes turned back to ceiling, then, clearly daydreaming. Yep, she had gone crazy; shouldn't be surprising considering how long she had been living under Natalia.

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moya lyubov' : my love
> 
> Zakhodi : Come on in.
> 
> pozhaluysta : please


	7. Patriarchy

The bourbon shimmered brownish yellow under the soft light of the minibar.  _ 'Yeah, Mikey. Still drinking the cheap shit _ .’ he thought. He could almost hear that adorable British accent mocking him, ‘ _ All that money and still no class, mate.’ _

“Cheers, buddy.” Damien raised his glass to empty hotel room. It had been two months since he had lost Michael in a fucking prison, in mid-op. Damien had tried every lead that there was and some he had pulled from thin air, but there was nothing to show for his efforts. And recently, all he could hope for was closure. He knew there was no happy ending, not after all this time.

Julia still called and checked, not giving up as she had promised. Damien sometimes suspected that she was in love with Michael a little, who wouldn't be after working with him so long. And sometimes, when her voice was the only thing that kept him going, he thought maybe she was... Nah! She knew Damien way too well for that.

He was gulping down the fourth shot of the night, when his phone ringed.

“Julia,” he leered as was expected from him. “Can't stay away, huh?”

“Bugger off with the attitude. I have news.”

“I'm all ears.” He answered, all business.

“There was a player we never checked into.”

“No fucking way. Seriously?” He was sure they had checked every single detail however small.

“Ulyanov's daughter.”

“We checked her, gorgeous. She isn't anywhere near the family business.” Not surprisingly really, Russian mafia was more patriarchal than Saudis in most cases. “Wasn't she in the entertainment business. From her late husband.”

“Yep. I checked her books. Her company's being used in money laundering.” Damien didn't say anything; it would be suspicious if there hadn't been any money laundering. “I know it's a long shot.” Julia added quickly, “But I found some business connection between her and Black Bear prison.”

“Okay. Okay.” It was small, but still bigger than what they had this morning which was a big fat nothing.

 

TBC...


	8. Failed Test

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natalia is a monster with no redeeming qualities.
> 
> For more warnings (spoiler) check the end notes. Otherwise, continue at your own risk.

As soon as the goons had tied him to the bondage chair, Michael knew there was something bad coming. Since his first time in this fucking room, they had never done so. Handcuffs had been enough, probably assuming the dead man’s switch in Natalia's hand was good enough incentive to stay put; rightly so. And suddenly, almost three months in, why had they decided that he should be shackled? Couldn't be anything good, that much he knew.

“Oh,  _ Maykl”  _ Natalia put on a caring but disappointed teacher face tonight, “Today I learned you failed my test.”

He wasn't aware of any test, so the chances that he failed one was quite high.

“Ma'am?” He asked respectfully.

“You remember I left you without cage when you killed  _ papa's  _ murderer for me?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Kamali's execution; how could he forget? He had released the monster within and turned into an ugly one. Not that he minded, not anymore. Sometimes, he worried about how savage he had become, but mostly, he worried about how little he worried. He remembered the talk Damien had given him when Michael had been gunning for Kerry’s murderer. He had felt the danger then. Now… now he was a different man. He was almost glad that he would never see Damien again because he didn't want to witness the disappointment in his friend's eyes. The way Damien had placed him on the pedestal from the get go, it was rather inevitable.

“You slept with my girl.” Natalia pulled a crying Miry into Michael's field of view. “And before you think lying, Miry confessed it's your baby.” Fuck! A baby? How was that possible… Okay, he knew how obviously, but with Kerry, they had been working on it for a whole year before…before the temporary good news. Jesus, fuck!

“It was my fault, ma'am, I forced myself on her. She tried to fight-”

“Awww, stop being this cute,  _ moya lyubov _ '. And don't lie to me.” The warning was clear in her voice. “Also, trying to convince me it was your fault not good idea because I know hurting her will hurt you more. No?”

“Please, ma'am, please don't hurt her…” He kept begging because what else was there? “I'll do anything, ma'am, anything.”

“How does that work?” She got closer to the chair, her eyes genuinely curious. “You don't sense her pain, do you?”

“What?”

“What do you feel when I hurt her? Why is it stronger than your own pain?” She was staring at him as if he was an exhibition in a museum, full of wonders.

“I don't know. I'm not sure if I can explain.” He claimed, not knowing a polite way of saying  _ ‘you have to be human first’. _ “I can take pain, ma'am. You know I can. She can't. That's all there is.”

“I know,  _ Maykl _ .” She said; exhaling loudly and looking disappointed. “Anyways, this is Miry's third strike. She know what's coming.” She laughed, dark and miserable. “She know she's not allowed to. But she skip her  **pills,** lay down with  **my** men and keep getting fucking  **pregnant.”** She was yelling towards the end of her speech, furiously and loudly; her face had turned to an ugly red, sweaty and swollen.

Miry was holding her belly with both hands as if trying to protect her baby. Michael knew she couldn't feel it yet, too early to even call it a  _ baby.  _  Still, it didn't mean she wouldn't be devastated by the loss.

“She knows I can't get pregnant.” Natalia blurted out, Michael wasn't sure if the confession was intentional or not. “Complications rose when I tried to rid off my brother's bastard. Doctors were so scared of  _ papa, _ they didn't mention the self-abortion that caused it. Maybe, they thought he did me who knows?” She laughed. “And she keeps getting pregnant just to spite me.” She spat on the crying girl.

A narcissistic psychopath like Natalia would think exactly like that, of course. Everything had to be about her.

When Michael started begging, she stopped him with a finger over his lips.

“I think you mix our relationship, _Maykl._ ” She said, not even pretending to be a human anymore, words dripping with venom. “I'm not your jealous lover. You killed my **brother.** **Twin brother**! Because of you I can't be aunt and you want me to spare your baby, your bitch.” She, then, held Michael's balls, squeezing them painfully. “The only reason you alive is because I want you to suffer more. And you will.”

She walked away and lifted Miry up by her hair from where she was collapsed. “You knew you shouldn't fucked her, didn't you?” She wrenched Miry's hair to pull her head up. “Why would I give you such beautiful gift? To my enemy?” She pulled a giant butcher knife from the table, holding it right at Miry's belly.

“No, please! Ma'am, please no!” Michael tried to break the binds, tear them -or his hands- off; no luck.

“However long you live, you think about this every day, huh?” She stabbed Miry right above her pelvis and slashed her belly all the way up to her ribs in a single thrust. Her innards erupted out of her petite body like a grotesque jack-in-the-box. She couldn't even scream, blood filled her mouth instantly. Michael kept screaming for both of them though. “If it wasn't for you… If you could control your cock, she would be alive.” Natalia said, and pushed the gurgling Miry to ground, down on her face. Then, she pressed the cursed button that sent Michael into throes of agony.

 

 

When he came to, his body was still shaking violently, almost seizing and Miry's body was unmoving in a large pool of blood that was turning black.

“Let's keep this on for a while,  _ moya lyubov _ '.” Natalia tapped his caged penis, as if nothing had happened. “I'll see you in a few weeks. By that time you'll be desperate enough to forget about today.”

  
  
  
  
  


“Fuck, dude.” Sam said while carrying Michael to his cell, “What the hell happened?”

His muscles were not cooperating, still convulsing violently albeit less frequently.

“She killed Miry.” Michael managed to explain through his clenched jaw.

“Shit!” Sam sat him down on his bed, “I'm sorry, dude. She was a sweetheart.” Sam wasn't one of those with whom Miry was friendly. He must have seen her around though. She was.. had been... impossible to miss.

“Pregnant-” He started but his stomach decided to eject whatever was left in there umpteenth time. Luckily, Sam was ready, Michael found the trash bin under his mouth.

“How long did she keep pressing it, dude?” Sam asked, when Michael finally lied down “You look terrible.”

“Don't remember. Passed out.”

Sam sat down next to him, eyes zooming out, “We're all gonna die here, aren't we?” he said, “Sometimes I'm thinking of ending it in my own terms.”

“Not gonna die before killing her.” Michael gasped, he just wouldn't.

Sam shrugged, then, smiled; but it wasn't one of his usual ones. “Yeah.”

“Seriously, mate!” Michael held his hand, trying to get his point across, “Please, don't do it.”

“Of course not.” He insisted, but somehow Michael couldn't believe him, not completely.

 

TBC....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attack to an unborn baby, original character death, mentions of self-inflicted abortion, mentions of suicide.
> 
>  
> 
> And if you read it anyways, why don't you let me know what you think? I'm craving for comments.


	9. Leave no man behind

From the outside the building was almost nondescript, looking very old, bordering run down even though it was bigger than most of the mansions Damien had seen. However, upon entering inside everything -the heavy velvet drapes covering tall, arched windows, plush Iranian rugs laid over long corridors, chandeliers as big as minivans hanging from cathedral ceiling, colorful mosaics embellishing the walls...literally everything- screamed money. Way too much money. The crowd was mostly Russian as expected but there were enough number of internationals that Damien didn't stand out like a dildo in a Disneyland. And he was playing his part beautifully if he said so himself. Even Michael couldn't find a fault, had he seen him; this time he looked like he had both the money, loads of it, and taste.

Getting an invitation to this event had been harder than to get one for a White House dinner. He still had to pay fifty grand just to pass the door. It was worth it though. Richmond uncovered some gossip about an underground fighting ring that might or might not related to Ulyanov's daughter. If, and Damien knew how big of an if that was, Michael was taken from the Black Bear because of his pretty fucking exceptional fighting skills, he might have ended up here.

“Mr. Conrad!” The tall dude from whom Damien got the invitation was waving. “You made it.”

“What can I say?” Damien walked next to him, “Your stories intrigued me, General.”

The General -honest to God, big star, General of Russian army General- started introducing Damien Conrad to the people around him. Yeah, yeah… Damien knew it was dangerous to impersonate a rich Saffer, Damien Conrad, but he had spent enough time observing Conrad Knox to have at least some idea how they behaved. He hoped his fake accent was good enough to pass; as long as there was no one else from the rainbow nation.

“What business brought you here, Mr Conrad?” asked one of the guys who was wheezing so much through the folds of fat in his neck that Damien was sure he wasn't going to make it to tomorrow.

“A sacred business, Mister Gutseriyev,” Damien answered while picking up a glass of champagne from the skimpily dressed waitress, “Trade.”

They all laughed as if they understood the inside joke. Maybe they did. Damien wouldn't be surprised if all rich assholes had similar minds. Later, after suffering through the most boring hour of his life listening to their tragic attempt at small talk, he decided they actually thought he was funny. Miserable bastards. General was okay at least; they talked about history, which obviously meant wars. Thankfully all that time he had spent with Michael and his Sun Never Set British Empire folk tales helped Damien to add a factoid or two as a fake South African.

When the hour of the event finally arrived, Damien tried to control his excitement. He knew chances of finding Michael was small, finding him alive was even smaller, but he still felt the pre-op giddiness nevertheless. The bets were starting from 25 grand which Damien passed. He had already spent substantial amount of the diamonds in the last four months, no need to splurge.

“Not playing?” General asked, his eyes doubtful.

“I like gambling, General, but I'm not stupid.” He explained, “not gonna bet on something I haven't even seen yet.”

“Spoke like a true businessman, my friend.” General laughed.

He was led to a miniature colosseum where he could feel the bass knocking at his breastbone from the invisible speakers. Somebody put a lot of money and effort to give the illusion of authenticity; whole place could be used as a set for a historical movie. The arena was big, illuminated powerfully; almost like daylight. The ground was covered with sawdust and sand as if it was an actual open to elements area and not built indoors. There were ancient looking, Hellenistic drapes covering parts of the walls; and wherever was bare looked run down and dirty.  

The fighters entering the arena look a bit jittery, and a lot angry. They fought well, each move was extremely controlled, well choreographed and fucking fantastic. When one of them finally got the upper hand, they had been fighting for a solid half hour, without breaks.

“As good as I told?” asked the General when Damien unintentionally let out a whistle.

“To be honest, General, it's better.” Damien confessed. He hadn't seen anyone fighting this well, this long. It shouldn't be possible. “They are inhuman.”

“Don't you know, Mr Knox, they are gods.” The General explained laughing.

His gut was unhappy and Damien wasn't sure if it was related to the superhuman fighters on the arena or something even more personal. When the two saluted the crowd, Damien recognized one of them. Not Michael, no; but a friend from another life. Fuck! Now he knew that the fighters, at least some of them, weren't here voluntarily. His gut churned dangerously now. A very bad omen for his well being.

“Excuse me, General.” He had to leave and come back with cavalry.

“Decided betting.”

“Exactly.” He lied.

When he stood up, he saw Ulyanov's daughter staring at him, grinning knowingly.

“Shit.” He couldn't risk waiting for a call to connect. He just texted a name to Julia,  _ Samuel J Ambrose. _ And the moment he pressed the send button, some bear of a man picked his phone and smashed it. All he could hope that the signal was already out.

“I'm gonna ask for a refund.” He tried, but he knew it was too late to keep the act.

“ _ Gospozha _ will see you.” said the bear, sounding exactly like a stereotypical Russian gangster butchering English.

“Lead the way, then.” He bowed down easily after noticing the others waiting with hands on their sides. He didn't want to be gunned down in a secret Russian palace.

 

TBC...


	10. Reunion

“I have a big surprise for you, _Maykl!”_ Natalia blurted as soon as the goons brought him to the damned room. He hoped today was the day because he sure couldn't take it anymore. “Can you guess? Come on, guess, guess!” She asked, jumping around like a school girl.

“You're gonna let me come, ma'am?” He tried. It was all that was in his head. It had been a month in the damn cage and he had been in this room at least 10 times without a release. Any release. Not even the damned prostate massage that would empty his balls sans a climax. Michael was desperate to say the least. He reckoned a month without emptying his nuts would be torture even without the drugs that turned him to an overactive teenager. With the drugs, he became something less than human. Maybe even less than animal; he had observed bucks doing some really stupid shit during their rutting period, still, Michael bet he would outdo them in stupidity right now.

“Don't be funny. That is not going to happen. Ever.” She laughed, so cheerful that Michael wanted to break her fucking neck just to stop her smile. “But I might let you have some sort of relief if you behave.”

“Of course, ma'am. Anything.” And he would. It scared him; but he was not really trusting himself with any kind of judgment at the moment, especially when the game night special mix pumped him up to new heights. Actually, new lows would be a more accurate description.

“I will bring someone. And you will ask him fuck you. Beg if necessary.”

“Of course, ma'am. I'll do anything to earn a chance-”

“No, you have to leak... empty while he fuck you. So, make sure your partner play long.” She giggled.

Okay. Michael could do it. Right now, getting fucked in the arse didn't sound so bad actually. If it wasn't strictly forbidden by the queen bitch, he would have done it many times already, just to have some kind of a release. If he could find someone crazy enough to fuck him against Natalia's orders that was. At the moment, he was so fucking horny that he might even enjoy it. The way Sam was craving it, it shouldn't be too bad.

“Say hi to your partner, _Maykl!_ ” snickered Natalia. When Michael raised his head to see who entered the room -and soon would into him-, the lust haze that had filled his brain like a poisonous fog for quite some time lifted for a few moments.

“Damien?” Damien couldn't answer; his mouth was gagged very effectively for that, but his wide open eyes told Michael that Damien didn't expect to see him either.

“Don't you love reunions!” giggled Natalia, clapping her hands and effectively pulling Michael out of his shock.

“You promised not to go after him.” Michael accused Natalia, “I told you it was me who shot Victor.”

“I did not, _moya lyubov’.”_ She scoffed, “He stepped into my house all by himself. Didn't you, Damien?”

Michael listened to Natalia explaining their arrangement to Damien in that cheerful tone of hers. Fucking Damien Scott! He really had found him. Not the way Michael was hoping for though. Where was the rest of section 20, raining gun fire like hell's fury on these bastards? Unfortunately, his wayward thoughts was cut unannounced with the agony that was familiar by now.

“Sorry, _Maykl!_ ” Natalia didn't even pretend to sound apologetic. “But I had to show your friend how your new implant work.”

  
  
  
  


When Damien made it out of here alive, he was gonna find Julia and ask her **how the fuck** they had missed that Ulyanov's only daughter was a fucking head case. Batshit crazy. Complete whack job. It's the kind of intel you needed the most before delving into an opp. The crazy bitch was still talking on and on about her genius doctor, about the torture device that they had fucking implanted in Michael's brain -his fucking brain for God's sake- and about the elixir they'd been feeding to poor slaves.

“But _Maykl_ got his even more special.” She continued, her hands all over Mikey's body. His alive, even more beefed up but still gorgeous-beyond-measure body. “His has more stimulants and also ejaculation blocker.” She was salivating, fucking psycho, while removing Mikey's loincloth. “Not complete blocker obviously, but I'm sure he didn't have any naughty dreams last month, no matter how much he needed them. How much he craved. Isn't that right, _moya lyubov’?”_

Jesus fucking… Damien couldn't believe his fucking eyes. He knew those blackish orbs must be Mikey's testicles... but… fuck! The color was off, yes, but their size was worse. As big as fucking oranges. Holy merciful mother! Damien's own jewels wanted to crawl back inside him after seeing them.

“I was waiting for a special occasion to let him have a relief, then you just walked in my _Ludus._ Coincidence? I say divine intervention.” She kept talking, and while Damien couldn't follow her every word, he got the general idea that he was supposed to fuck Michael until the Brit emptied his crammed balls. He just wasn't sure if he could get it up while Mikey was chained on a fucking torture table, still suffering seizures of some kind after what that bitch had put him through.

“Okay, get him ready.” She ordered after shoving a small bucket of lubricant to him. “You have…” She sat back on a chair with full view of Mikey, “five minutes. Then you start fucking. And Damien, do it good. My hands start shaking when I get angry.” She warned while shaking the remote control in her hand.

“It's okay, mate. Go on.” Michael tried to catch his eyes, “Come on, Scott!”

It wasn't easy with the way his hands were handcuffed, but he managed. Apparently, he hadn't needed to worry about raising the flag. Michael sounded like pure porn when Damien pushed a finger in him. His finger had never incited such response in his life and his dick loved it.

Damien had never been a denial fan. A few women had asked him to play, which he complied -as long as it wasn't him that who got denied- by edging the ladies until the brick of ecstasy only to prevent them from reaching it. They seemed like they enjoyed the whole ordeal, but it wasn't for him. Damien liked to satisfy his partners, if possible multiple times. He enjoyed watching them come, knowing that he was the cause of the intense pleasure they felt. He loved the looks he received after the shocks were over: satisfaction, mixed with some calmness, spiked with a hint of surprise and with a tad of gratitude. Always. (Yeah, he was that fucking good, okay?) So, he didn't understand why anyone would forego such pleasure and deny their partner -or themselves- an orgasm. Until now… Jesus fucking Christ! The way Michael responding to his every single touch was intoxicating.

“I'm ready, mate. Come on… come on… Fuck me.” Michael begged. Sergeant Michael Stonebridge was literally begging for a fuck. Damien knew the guy wasn't in his right mind, the drugs, the denial… Probably, it wouldn't be counted as consent even, but he sounded so convincing, so fucking desperate and so fucking hot.

“You have a minute left.” The crazy bitch whispered to his ear, startling him. He hadn't realized her getting up from the chair. Damien wasn't gonna let her put Michael through that torture again, consent or not. He pulled his fingers out and pushed his dick inside Michael in one smooth but slow move. Fuck! It felt good. It felt great. He held on Michael's abs as much as he could for balance and started pumping. In and out, in and out… Michael was grunting, begging, yelling… filth that Damien thought Michael wasn't capable of thinking, let alone spilling loudly from his usually genteel Brit mouth and turning Damien on even more.

“He loves it.” The boss lady whispered again, bitch hadn't returned back to her chair. “Don't you, _Maykl?_ ” She walked up next to Mikey's head. “You just want it so fucking much, right?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Michael answered, grinding his teeth.

She climbed up to the chair on top of Michael's head, “You know what to do, soldier. Be really, really good and I might let your partner live.”

She sat down on his face, her cunt right over Michael's mouth. He must be working it real nice since her eyes closed shut and she started moaning right away. Her hand, the one clutching the remote control, was on Michael's chest, helping her to grind herself on his tongue. Damien didn't even think on it, it was mostly reflex. He pressed down on that hand and gave her a mother of all headbutts. She fell down on Michael like a bag of bones, the remote safe in Damien's hand.

“Pull her twat away from my face, mate.” Michael mumbled under her, ungrateful bastard.

Damien couldn't answer with his mouth gagged, but he was sure Michael heard him cursing just fine. He pulled out of Michael, still clutching the damn remote control, then pushed the knocked out bitch off of Mikey. He started working on Michael's bonds with a single hand, but Mikey protested.

“There is another remote on the bench, small like a keychain. Activate that one, so you don't have to keep pressing this.”

Jumping all the way to the said bench -because his pants were still down at his ankles- he found one remote that he really, really hoped was the correct one. It was. Finally, he could put the dead man's switch down and pull up his pants and free Michael. When he was out of his binds, Michael easily picked the locks on the handcuff that already chaffed Damien's wrists. Only then removed Damien's gag.

“It's good to see you, buddy” Damien said, feeling a bit awkward with the very recent fucking they had experienced, but still had to be said.

“You're sight for sore eyes too, mate.” Michael  smiled but it looked strained. “Where is the rest of the team?” He asked while picking up the bitch from the floor.

“I'm not with section 20 anymore.” Damien explained, “So, just you and me, buddy.”

Michael nodded while gagging Natalia.

“What are you doing, Mikey?”

“First thing first.” He changed the subject, “I really, really have to come, mate.”

“Are you… fuck! You **are** serious.” And he was. He was searching for the keys for the cock cage Damien realized, she was wearing them as necklace. “Mikey! We have to go, buddy. You'll do whatever you need to do when we're safe.”

Michael shook his head and open the cage, throwing it away. His dick grew so fucking fast that Damien felt light headed watching it. And it looked so fucking chafed that Damien's own ached in sympathy. Jesus! But Michael didn't seem that he minded; he handled himself roughly, his hand moving fast and sure, breaking the skin while doing it.

“Jesus! Stop, stop. You're fucking bleeding.”

“Stay away, Scott. I have to.” Michael growled, looking and sounding like a crazed animal rather than an elite soldier.

“I got that. Let me help, okay? I'll help. I'll help, buddy. It's gonna be better, okay?” He stepped closer while talking slow and calm, then pushed Michael to the chair. “Open your legs, yeah, like that. Good.” Fuck! Mikey looked gorgeous like that. Damien pushed a finger in him, finding his hardened prostate right away. “Okay, let go off your hand. Come on, buddy. Trust me, okay?”

Michael reluctantly let go of his penis and Damien swallowed him right away in case he changed his mind.

“Fuck!” Michael moaned, his hands automatically homing on Damien's head.

Damien didn't really sucked him, mostly kept him in his mouth, licking here and there while massaging his prostate. It didn't take too long for Stonebridge to come and come and come. Damien had to let go of the dick in order to spit out mouthful of jizz and Michael was still squirting. It was a scene of beauty; a scene to remember.

“You okay now?” He asked when Michael was finally finished coming.

“Yeah.” He stopped for a moment, then put on his loincloth. Damien almost choke on nothing watching Michael secure his still hard -and God, so fucking long- dick by tying his belt over it.

  
  


 

“You're never gonna feel what I feel, Natalia.” Michael looked at her ice blue eyes. For the first time, that cruel glint was missing. Maybe she was capable of feeling fear. “Never will know what love feels like or to be loved.” She looked almost offended by the notion, that snob smirk came back to her lips. “And no one is gonna remember you, either. Not even me. You're gonna be one sicko in a long list of sickos that I killed.”

“Oh, _Maykl!_ You're not gonna kill-”

He just broke her fucking neck. A single crack. Her head fell back in that unnatural angle, eyes open but not seeing. Dead.

“Mikey! What the hell man!” Damien came back from searching through the cabinets in his quest for finding anything useful.

“I had to.” He tried explaining, but Damien was relentless.

“You killed an unarmed woman, buddy. She was tied up for fuck's sake. Yeah she was a bit sadistic and okay psychotic-”

“ **She** butchered a girl because the poor thing was pregnant. With my baby. Right where you stand, mate. So, bugger off.” Michael didn't have much patience these days, not even for Damien it seemed.

“Jesus, Mikey. I'm sorry... Shit, buddy. Okay… we're gonna have a talk. When we're out of here.” Damien took a metaphorical step back.

Michael let Damien plan their impossible escape while he tried to find a way to get rid of the damn choker. Scott kept going on about ambushes, the number of guards, the possible ways of getting some serious firearms.

“The fuck you're doing, Mikey?” Damien stopped him using the bolt cutter on the choker, “Are you sure that the thing isn't booby trapped?”

“I think I'm gonna take my chances.” Michael snapped.

“Look at me, Michael. Fuck! Look at me. **Sergeant!** " Damien yelled, “You're not in your right mind. So, you're gonna stop taking initiative, okay?” He looked at him as if Michael was a petulant child. “Is that understood, soldier?” He finished with certainty, as if he was Michael's CO. And Michael wanted to hit him, to break his fucking nose, to stop that condescending, all knowing tone of his. But he also wanted to fuck him all the way to tomorrow; so he knew what he was feeling was all messed up thanks to the cocktail he had been fed today.

“Yeah… yeah okay…” He finally answered, instead of starting a -surely would be very satisfying- fight. “You're the boss, Scott.”

“Damn, I wish we're being recorded.” Damien snickered, not sensing how close Michael was to become an exploding mess.

Scott did figure out how to disable the device. Through the battery change option in the remote which Michael didn't even think to look at; his nerves were too jittery to focus on tiny letters on the damn thing.

“See, that's why you should always listen to me, Mikey.” Damien bragged while breaking the choker. “There you go.”

The lightness dawned on him as a pleasant surprise. As if his head might start flying like runaway helium balloons in a carnival. His fingers grazed his naked neck, sensitive to even the smallest whiff of air after being covered so long.

He was so out of it for a while that he couldn't really understood what the hell was Damien doing; staging Natalia on the chair, head dropping back. When Damien asked he answered; yes he knew how to call for a guard using the damn comm system. The clueless bastard entered the room, trying not to look at Michael kneeling between Natalie's naked legs. It was a common enough occurrence since Natalia knew too well how humiliating it was for Michael. This time though Damien was waiting behind the door. It took only seconds for him to kill the guy and take his gun.

The rest was kind of like riding a bike even through his haze. His body knew how to act; he easily fell into the rhythm of following his partner, his muscle memory taking over, leaving him in an almost serene state. It was almost beautiful in its simplicity: take the bad guys out one by one until there were none. Of course if it wasn't for the NAVY Seals smashing through the stained glass windows, they probably wouldn't make it out alive.

“What the fuck?” asked Michael, kneeling and placing his arms behind his head in order to palicate the overzealous soldiers from shooting at them. “They just found the day you came to burst in here?”

“I guess Julia got my message” answered Scott, copying Michael's stance. “I'm surprised it took them this long.”

 

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left. :)


	11. Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to add the warning: These guys are professionals, do not try these at home. This is erotic fiction, please don't take this as a manual for kinky sensual interaction.

“Fucking Damien Scott!” Samuel barreled into the room and hugged him, crushing his ribs in the process. “The word is that you're the mighty savior.” Sam looked much bigger in person, beefed up twice in size since Damien had seen him in the States.

“You know me, buddy; I try.” Damien attempted a grin, but he was still reeling with their pretty fucking narrow escape. If the Navy Seals had delayed for mere few minutes…he shuddered. This time it had been too close. “The doctors gave you okay?” The base doctors were still keeping Michael _under observation_ and Damien was getting ready to plan another rescue if they kept him any longer.

“Nah! You kidding? They are having a field day with all the freaking tests. Blood, urine, ECG, EKG, dozen more Gs… But I had to find you, I'll be back before they realize I’m missing.” He wined and gave Damien one of his room brightening smiles. The ones that displayed his bunny teeth in their irresistible cuteness. The ones that had made Damien forget about regulations or the lies he had told himself.

“But they took out the damn implant, right?”

“Yeah, non-invasive endovascular something… it's like nothing happened.” He said, but his hand crept up on his head, probably unintentionally, scratching the phantom implant. “How did you find us, man. No one even suspected this shit.”

“Mikey is… was my partner; gone missing in the middle of an opp.” Damien said, it was good enough explanation. “I thought I was searching for his corpse, man.” He blurted out; seeing a friendly face bringing down his walls. “I can't believe I found him alive.” All those miserable nights he had drunken himself into stupor; thinking how Michael died when Damien, his partner, was supposed to watch his back; believing his very last words to the guy was that  arrogant sentence: _'I can't carry you.’_ He had said that while Michael had been fighting fucking paralysis thanks to some fucking neurotoxin. Jesus fucking...

Sam must have sensed Damien's turmoil; his eyebrows dropped with concern. “Shit, dude. You two…?”

“No! Fuck, no.” He answered, maybe a bit too quickly.

“Really?” Sam insisted, obviously not believing him, “I thought he was your type.”

Damien laughed, “Michael? He is **everybody's** type, buddy.” Everyone who had eyes and a brain that was.

“True that.” His eyebrows danced playfully; he could still carry a conversation with those bushy lines it seemed. “So what happened? Damien Scott I knew wouldn't miss a lay like that.” He stopped for a moment; then, eyebrows raising up, he continued in a more playful tone. “Or is he that special that you didn't-?”  

“Fuck you, man!” Damien stopped him.

“Holy shit! You really did fall for him.”

“Just saved your gladiator ass from an evil witch. Can't you be more respectful, asshole?”

Sam looked at him with a single eyebrow raised; the look that had used to make Damien furious. Theirs had been a very short fling, many years ago, but Sam still looked at him as if he could read Damien's soul. Maybe he could. Maybe that's why he changed the subject.  

“I have so much respect it's coming out of my ass fucker.” He laughed. A sound still familiar even after a decade. Two of those years, Damien had believed the guy was dead.

“Jesus, Sam. I had no idea.” He confessed; when Sam's partner had called him and asked if he had any info on Sam's whereabouts, Damien hadn't done much other than checking the official reports.  “When I saw the report that you've been shot and fell from the heli, I… I'm sorry-”

“Don't be. There was no way anyone could guess I was alive, let alone know.” Sam shrugged; like it was nothing, like it was expected to be forgotten in a hellhole. “It wasn't too bad there. Except your buddy, Stonebridge, got it really bad. I don't know what he did, but-”

“We killed Victor Ulyanov.” Damien explained.

“Holy fuck!” Sam let out a whistle that resonated in the sparsely furnished room. “That's why he never mentioned you then; trying to protect your ass.” He stopped for a hearty laugh, “Ganked the fucking _Prince,_ huh? You're still a menace, dude.”

“Did you contact Rick?” Damien changed the subject. “He was devastated when I told him about the report.” Sam wasn't ‘out’ officially, so his unofficial life partner, Rick, hadn't received any information from the Navy when Sam had gone missing. That's why the guy had searched and found Damien and asked him, no begged him: _“They don't tell me anything, Damien. And I know, we're not even friends, but... you're the only one that could help me. You must have contacts. Something. Anything. Please… please…”_

“Yeah.” His smile faded, “Seems like he moved on.”

“Shit, buddy. Sorry.” And he was. The one and only time Damien had seen them, they were the textbook definition of a perfect couple.

“It's been almost two years.” Sam shrugged. “He wanted to see me though.”

“Yeah?” Damien grinned, “If he sees you like this, he'll move back.”

“I look good, ain't I?” Sam's grin mirrored his own.

“Sargeant Ambrose!” A nurse, frowning so deep that her eyes were angry slits, bellowed from the door.

“Yes, ma'am!” Sam jumped to attention.

“Next time I'm going to handcuff you to your bed, soldier.” She hissed and Damien believed her, totally.

“Roger that, ma'am.” Sam leered like a skeezeball; as if there was a bone in his body that wasn't gay. He then left but not without shaking Damien's hand, “Thank you, dude, I owe you one. We all do.”

“Take care, Sam. And best of luck with Rick, buddy. You deserve some happiness.”

Sam whispered into his ears before the nurse pulled him out, “You deserve to be happy too, dude. Don't miss your chance with Stonebridge.”

  
  


The bed was soft and comfortable; better be, Damien mused, considering what they had paid for the suite. Not that Damien could enjoy his whatever thread count, Egyptian cotton or Italian sateen bed or the spectacular view of the old town across the river. He couldn't focus on anything other than what's happening in the other room of the presidential suite.

Michael had insisted on leaving the American base against the doctor's ample warnings. He was jittery, a bit paranoid and as irritable as a hungry -and poked, repeatedly- bear; so Damien had to get him out in order to prevent an international crisis. It also helped their case that Damien and Michael hadn't **officially** set foot in the US military base. The doctors warned Damien against possible side effects of the prolonged use of drug cocktails Michael had been fed. Also about the withdrawal effects of said cocktails.

“We can't be exactly sure what he's been dosed with and how long.” The doctor had said, face devoid of any compassion or feeling.

“What the fuck was with all those tests then.” Damien snapped. They had kept Michael more than a day.

“His blood is tainted with so many different compounds that it's impossible to guess, let alone know for sure, what was the regimen.” The doctor shrugged, as if they were talking about mess menu and not a human being. “The best course of action is letting them clear naturally under observation.”

“Yeah, Scott will observe, then.” Michael's decision was final. And he had refused to be taken to another hospital, even a civilian one, claiming he didn't want to see another medical facility or a single white coat for a very long time.

As a result, Damien couldn't enjoy his luxury suite right now because he was worried like… like a father of a teenager who has gone to his first night out or whatever. Michael had picked up a lady from the hotel bar and disappeared into his own room -in the same suite because Damien couldn't let him out of his sight, not yet. It was a testament to the Stonebridge's good looks that he had actually managed to convince a woman to be with him at the moment. He hadn't looked safe or sane or even working on all the fucking cylinders. He was already shaking like an addict by the time they made it to hotel bar. As doctor's orders, he didn't drink any booze, but his eyes were blood red as if he was totally toasted. He couldn't even complete any sentence more than a few words long. Jesus! What kind of a girl goes to a room with a guy like that? What if…

That's when he heard the glass breaking through the wall and some yelling in Polish. He was in Michael's room before he had finished contemplating the situation. The girl Michael had picked up from bar saw Damien, spat on him and left. Did it make him a bad person that he felt relieved?

“Are you okay, Mikey?”

“Fuck!” Stonebridge was naked, hard and leaking; and Damien tried really hard not to stare at him, down there. “I… couldn't, mate.”

If he hadn't seen the tent pole Michael was sporting, Damien would have thought about erectile dysfunction, just one of the hundred possible side effects that the doctor had listed. But he could attest that it wasn't the case.

“Are you okay, though?” He had to hold Michael's shoulders to get his attention. “Mikey!”

“I just… I have to… Fuck!”

“You need a fuck, yes, I can definitely see that.” He gestured the saluting organ between them.

“Yeah,” Michael shrugged; finally realizing how naked he was and covering himself with a towel.

Damien filled a glass -definitely crystal, he was finally getting something out of those diamonds- with water and offered to his friend.

“So what was the problem with..” He nodded toward the broken glass and the wine stain on the wall.

Michael sat down on the bed, his head between his hands. “I couldn't stand the smell, mate.” He confessed. “I puked on her.”

A million different things popped up in Damien's mind, from recreational drugs to psychedelic incense... “What smell?”

“Woman smell... her fanny, whatever... Can't stand seeing a pussy right now.” Michael growled, just like the aforementioned bear.

Damien could see how that was really a problem. Quite literally. Michael's penis had found a way out of the towel, twitching right in front of his eyes like a live bait. Before he could suggest anything, Michael jumped up.

“It shouldn't be too hard to pick a bloke. Right?” He was smiling with pride almost, so happy to come up with such brilliant solution.

“If you go out like that, no. Not at all.” Damien answered truthfully.

“Yeah.” answered Michael without realizing the sarcasm. “I'll find a gay bar close by.” He continued.

Damien was suddenly hit by the stunning image of Stonebridge in tight jeans in a gay bar, grinding his hard on on very willing asses at the dance floor. Damien shifted a little to adjust himself in his pants, hoping that it would go unnoticed. They would swarm Michael like flies to honey in any bar. Which, when he could think with his upstairs’ brain, might pose a big problem.

“No way, buddy.” He stopped Michael. “You're not in a mood to be in a crowded place.” Damien was not going to set free this raging bear into a dance floor only to watch him break few dozen bones a minute later.

“Why the fuck not!” bellowed Michael, posture ready for a fight.

“Because I don't want you to be in trial for using deadly force, possibly in a hate crime.”

“What the fuck-”

“Michael.” He tried calm and serene, “buddy... listen to yourself. You're not thinking clearly right now. And your fuse is so short that you might end up killing someone.” He held on to him to keep the eye contact. “Someone who doesn't deserve to be killed.”

Michael seemed to understand at last. He sat back to the bed, visibly deflated.

“I… I should call for... service, maybe.” He said, but didn't sound too sure of himself.

Damien could call the concierge and rent a nice looking Slavic hunk for his buddy to fuck all night long. That would be the most reasonable thing to do. A good professional would know how to handle just about anyone. Or…

“I could do it, you know.” He blubbered, his cheeks warming up; his pick up lines hadn't been this bad since high school. “If you want, of course.” Yeah, it wasn't the most noblest thing he did, but he would never forgive himself if he had missed this chance.

“Thanks for the offer, mate. Not that you did a bad job back in Russia, but I really need to be the one doing the fucking.”

“Ye-” He had to clear his throat, “Yeah, that's the offer, buddy.”

“Oh!” Michael looked at him as if he could see him for the first time today. “I didn't know that you... Really?”

“Yeah, it's just sex. No big deal.” He passed it off with a shrug, praying that Michael wouldn't find clarity right at this moment to see through his facade. Not that he cared enough to stop, not now... Not when Stonebridge was standing up with all his naked majesty, his body shining with a thin layer of sweat, whaffing off that spicy scent of the shower gel he had used before checking out the bar… Not when the guy was so fucking horny that couldn't see straight. Shit! Was Damien taking advantage of him? He knew that Michael was straight; at least he had been until that crazy bitch put him through hell and made him swear off women.

“Oh, fuck, I can't wait any longer.” Michael threw his towel to ground, putting an end to Damien's inner turmoil. “Are you fucking sure, mate?”

“Yeah,” Damien had to lick his lips so that he wouldn't salivate all over himself. “Yeah, I fucking am.” He undressed, quick and efficiently.

“Just… knock me out if things get too… you know.” Michael asked, like it was completely normal.

“I can handle you, buddy, don't worry.”

It was a bit awkward for a moment, neither of them could start. Then, Michael brought out the lotion -classic boy scout, even in his hormone hazed craziness- and broke the spell. Damien clambered onto the bed, to hands and knees, facing the Victorian headboard, naked and waiting. He flinched when Michael finally touched him, gently palming his ass. A sudden shudder rippled over his skin, from his hips to all the way to his neck. Michael's fingers were sure and insistent. Long and strong. Damien had watched those fingers on triggers, ready to kill, hundreds of times; or felt them patting on his back to signal the jump before delving into the line of fire; or seen them moving repeatedly over the barely there blond hair to calm himself… Now, they were inside Damien.

He couldn't help but moan when those digits passed upon something really nice inside him.

“Do it, Mikey.” He asked; he couldn't take the way Michael's dick kept smearing the proof of his lust on his legs any longer.

Michael grunted his response, pulled back for a moment, then entered him. He was big, and Damien wasn't exactly ready, and it fucking hurt. But, for the God above, it was everything Damien had been dreaming of. Especially when Mikey started giving him exactly what he had wanted. Damien couldn't help the noises bursting out of his mouth, pushed out with Michael's every trust.

“Fuck!” Michael growled behind him, his hands -big, boney, beautiful hands- holding Damien tight, moving him as he desired, pulling him onto his dick. “Let me hear you, mate.” He asked.

“Wha’?” Damien hadn't expected any verbal input from his partner.

“Come on, Scott.” He stopped thrusting and bent down over him, his lips close to Damien's ear. “Talk to me.” Michael, then, moved to a twerking motion, his legs kept pressing into Damien's ass and it was driving Damien crazy. “You feel brilliant on my dick, mate. Fucking brilliant.”

Michael felt great in him too, but Damien couldn't tell him that. Or anything really. He moaned and gasped and whimpered like a whore on a show, but did not allow words to escape from his mouth, scared of what he might confesses in the heat of the moment. Thankfully Michael didn't insist, completely content with the noises Damien made, he kept pounding him.

 

 

Damien was really close when Michael stiffened behind him and came; his hands gouging holes on Damien's hips. Damien moved one hand to his neglected penis, dangerously balancing on the fluffy mattress.

“Don't.” Michael stopped him before laying down on his side..

“Seriously?”

“Just give me five minutes, mate.” He said;  breathless after his vigorous cardio, his broad chest moving like a blacksmith bellow.

“You wanna continue?” It hadn't been the longest session he had experienced, but Damien wouldn't call it a quicky either.

Michael tugged his hand, toppling Damien down next to himself.

“Relax.” He smiled, looking directly at him; all mellow and a bit playful, as if sharing a secret Damien wasn't privy to.  “I won't leave you high and dry.”

And he didn't. Before Damien got bored, Michael climbed on him. “Can I fuck you like this? Or would you consider it _too intimate_?”

“Your dick was plowing my ass, buddy. I don't think we could get any more intimate.” Could they?

What he got was that cryptic smile, only now it was slowly getting tainted with lust, gradually turning into a predatory grin.

“Jeeezusss!” gritted out Damien when Michael shoved his dick in his ass. He wasn't painfully tight anymore, but became real sensitive after the long pounding. When he opened his eyes he saw Michael looking at him intently. “What?”

“Never done it with someone at my height.” answered Michael, his eyes searching something in Damien's. Damien closed his own, afraid of what Michael could find in there. And soon he didn't have to, or could, worry. Michael started moving deliciously, his body heavy on top of him. Damien couldn't push a hand between their bodies to stroke himself, but his dick was happily squeezed as a result; devilishly rubbed by Mikey's body. And Damien could swear he could feel the steel dunes on that cheese grater. Fuck! He wasn't gonna last long.

  


 

“I don't think I can take it anymore, buddy.” Damien pleaded, his ass was on fire; definitely bruised and swollen. And Michael, even after his second orgasm, was still going at it like it was his first time. Ever.

“Shit! Sorry, mate.” Mikey seemed baffled. His dick -still hard, leaking and standing proud- in his hand, he looked lost. He stepped into the bathroom; Damien could see him washing his junk on the sink. Huh! Damien had expected some kind of insistence from him. He didn't look as crazy as the beginning of the evening, but his eyes still had a strange glint that had gone away for few minutes after his orgasms. He sat down next to Damien, hands fiddling with the corner of Damien's pillow.

“Can you… umm, can you take me in your mouth?”

“What?”

“I can't stop thinking about your mouth, mate. The way you made me come in Ludus.” His tongue slide out for a moment to wet his lips while he kept gazing at Damien's mouth. “You took me to the root. Never had that before.”

It wasn't that he couldn't, he definitely could and he would love doing it too. But Damien was exhausted. Whatever they had been feeding poor Mikey, he needed some of that too to catch up. Damien had been soldiering on even after he came all over himself, which might be more than half an hour ago. The way Michael pounding his prostate, he even managed to rise up again. But, damn he was tired. Changing positions helped only so much. Still, seeing Michael playing with himself while talking, hands absentmindedly stroking his already chafed dick did it. “Yeah, let's…” Damien hadn't stopped thinking about taking Michael in his mouth either. Also, when else would he get another chance, if ever?

Michael didn't lose any time. He stacked pillows on the bed and asked Damien to lay down. Damien rested his neck on the pillows facing up, head toward the back of the bed, at perfect height to Michael's red hot dick, which, by the way, still looked delicious even after the hours of sex Damien had.

Michael held Damien's face, palms covering cheeks, fingers curved under his chin. He pushed himself in slowly, the tip of his dick gracing Damien's cheeks, letting Damien lick and suck him on the way in. All the way in. Until his balls resting over Damien's nose, almost blocking his nostrils. It became a struggle to inhale, to fill his lungs while Michael sat deep in his throat. His own dick gave a twitch.

“You like this.” Michael observed. “You like being gagged by a dick, mate? Or is it the breath play?” His right hand moved down to Damien's neck, not pressing but just staying there, fingertips grazing gently. “Do you want me to play that too?” He asked, voice already rasped.

And Damien should not confirm Michael's prediction. Stonebridge couldn't be counted as exactly sober, intoxicated with God knows what. And Damien was in a really compromising position, not much leeway to save himself if things got out of hand. On top of all, Michael was strong, maybe too strong after months spent in that place, and wasn't that a thrill for a special forces trained guy like Damien. The devious voice that had always caused Damien trouble in the past, told him how with no one else he could experience such exhilaration.

He gurgled his affirmation and slid one hand over Michael's to confirm his intent. This might be the stupidest thing he had done in the name of sex and that was really saying something for Damien Scott.  

Michael moved both hands over his neck now, thumbs sliding next to each other right over his Adam's apple, other fingers cradling base of his neck and still not squeezing.

“I can feel myself in your throat.” He growled, his hands tightening slightly, barely even there, and Damien's dick responded like it was the one being stroked, not his neck. Damien gasped around the dick in his throat, trying to suck air through Michael's sweaty balls that was resting comfortably on his face. “Your fucking mouth, mate!” Michael grunted, “should've known all you need was a cock in it to shut you up.”

Damien made an embarrassing sound which would be downright pathetic if it hadn't been muffled.

“Unbelievable! You liked that too?” His hands started moving, slow and steady but still not applying any real pressure that Damien was literally gagging for. “For a guy who craves attention, you actually get off on humiliation? Is that why you keep sleeping around? Slutting yourself around the globe? Fucking anyone that would accept you?” He had increased his speed, almost fucking Damien's face. Then, ever so slowly, Michael's hands started to press down. Damien gurgled, suddenly it became too much.

“Shhh! I got you, mate. Don't worry. Now put your hands on your dick. Both of them. Yeah. And don't let go.” He didn't sound sex crazed. He sounded like Michael Stonebridge, the exceptional sergeant in the British SBS. He sounded like he was in control. Exactly like the first time they had met in the seedy Kuala Lumpur hotel room. Damien had trusted his life to this guy that day, and from then on; again and again. He trusted him now too.

So, Damien listened to him. He grabbed his dick with both hands, squeezing in tandem with Michael's face fucking.

“Yeah, just like that. Fuck! Fuck!” Michael’s hands got a bit tighter on his neck. Then, a little bit more. And more.

It was slow and gradual so Damien couldn't pinpoint exactly when he couldn't breathe anymore. Suddenly, his chest was tight, lungs burning. Michael pelvis was covering his face, his hands were almost cutting blood flow on his neck.

“Come for me, mate.” Michael ordered. "Now!" Damien obeyed and was rewarded with the longest, most powerful orgasm of his life. Then everything went dark.

 

 TBC...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the number of chapters keep increasing, but this time there is only one chapter left. For real.
> 
> And while waiting for the last chapter, what do you think about this one? I'm a bit anxious to get some feedback.
> 
> Also, all my research on breath play says this was really stupid Damien, what were you thinking? But what you can expect from someone who has slept with Christy Bryan, again and again.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Making these two talk was harder than anything else I wrote, for goodness sake.
> 
> Here's the morning after...

The tremors, the shaking, the restrained fidgeting, everything suddenly stopped. Not actually surprising; Damien had been enjoying a solid full minute, violently intense orgasm. Michael was getting jealous. The urge to continue to fuck the now unbelievably docile throat -as long as he could feel the pulse under his fingers- was there, but Michael was not nearly crazy enough to discard the dangers of such action. He pulled out, letting Damien breathe comfortably after the long ordeal.

During his years in military, Michael had reaped the fruits of his training in sex plenty. The never ending drills had made him strong, very much so; they increased his stamina to the limits of human body; and they also endowed him with great attention to details even when he was pushing the said limits. All of that had boosted his pleasure as well as his partners’, both in time and quality. However, tonight was the first time Michael had used his actual training in sex: Exactly where to press and for how long in order to take his partner's breath away; never mind that he had been thought that particular trick in order to disable his enemies, not to give them spectacular orgasms. Thinking about silently-disabling-the-enemy in the same sentence with orgasm was… strange to say at the least. Not something he would ever think before tonight. He couldn't say that he didn't get a kick out of Damien’s ecstasy though; how even the idea of it enthralled the guy, how he went crazy out of his mind with the mere suggestion of the action. Also the thrill of being trusted like that while fucking that mouth-- Jesus! Michael had to take care of his business very soon or he might end up doing something despicable.

He checked to make sure Damien was breathing easily without a hitch, then, added his own juice in the mixture on Damien's belly. The deep and lasting pain in his testicles while squirting the last drop signaled that he was done for tonight. Finally. He was exhausted; had been since the second time he had emptied in Damien.

Before cleaning him up, he watched how some of the short, curly hair on Damien's body had transformed to darker clumps with their collective jizz, painting a really abstract and very modern art on human canvas. He could actually see Damien posing for some crazy shitick like that. Michael would bet his hat that Damien had at least one crazy, artist girlfriend that had done something similarly quirky. Or a boyfriend. As he had gathered from tonight's interaction, that was a possibility too. Damien Scott...bisexual...huh! Was tonight made Michael one too? Probably.

The cold seeping from the wash towel stirred Damien awake. He came to slowly; licking, then, smacking his lips; hands lazily scratching his pubic hair where Michael had just cleaned off the sticky residue of semen. Opposite of what Michael would have expected from someone fighting dangerous people for a good portion of his life.

“You alright, mate?” Michael asked; couldn't help but smile with amusement. Damien looked... cute.

“Wha’?” Damien tried to open one eye.

“Are you all right?” He asked again, emphasizing every word.

Damien woke up completely then; his face broke into a beautiful smile when he caught sight of Michael. A happy smile; genuine, instinctive.

“I think you killed me, buddy.” He drawled, “Fuck! What a way to go.” He raised his head to check the ancient clock on the wall. “Do I have to get up?” He asked, looking right into Michael's eyes. The ball was in Michael's court now. He could treat tonight as a joke and send Damien back to his room, like that night they had spent in the States with that very eager stripper. Damien had been willing for another threesome on their little holiday. Michael hadn't. Now, though… Now he wanted to repeat... everything they had done tonight. And more. Much more.

“As long as you won't complain about some rumpy pumpy under the quilt.”

“Fuck you!” Damien's laugh was liberating. “You're not touching my ass anytime soon, buddy. It needs a month of pampering after tonight.”

Michael slid next to Damien, “I  **can** kiss it better.”

Damien groaned.

“Joking, mate. Not-” A long yawn cut his sentence, “Not tonight.” He slapped the thigh under his hand, “Come, head of the bed is here. I don't wanna get kicked in the face.”

“Why don't you bring your pillow down here? I'm comfy.”

“It's Feng Shui, mate. Your head should be protected by a wall.” He said, all serious like. The look Damien gave was hilarious. 

  
  
  
  
  


It was the sun, shining on his face gentle and warming, that woke him up. A first in such a long time. It wasn't as if Michael hadn't seen the sun in Ludus. He had; every afternoon, 2 hours training in the courtyard under the sun, or rain or snow storm. But waking up to sunshine playing hide and seek with tulle window treatment was as novel as having a bed partner with a dick. Damien was still asleep, face down, arms and legs open wide, covering most of the giant bed. Michael slid closer to him, and watched. He wasn't exceptionally horny this morning. He would still fuck, soon too, but that I-might-fucking-die-unless-I-fuck-right-the fuck-now feeling was gone, thankfully. And still, Damien looked fuckable. Very much so. He slid even closer, hands itching to touch the finger marks on Damien's arse. He was seriously considering waking him up with kisses on those beautiful marks when his stomach groaned loudly, reminding how he hadn't eaten much last night.

He ordered full English, with tea obviously and coffee because Damien would probably refuse to wake up without one. Heathen. It'd been a while Michael had had a good breakfast, satisfying both his stomach and taste buds. He really hoped it wouldn't be a disappointment ordering English in the Continent. Though whatever the case, he knew the sausages would be awesome. God he was starving. And Damien looked good enough to eat. Michael jumped in a quick, cold shower to stay away.

He couldn't tell what woke Damien up, the noise of the room service setting up the extravagant table or the delightfully appetizing aroma of the breakfast Michael was enjoying with delight.

“Buddy!” He walked in the living room part of the suite hair dropping with water, donning only in clean pair of boxers, “You're a fucking saint.” He zoomed right toward the coffee like a mindless drone.

“Already demoted, then.”

“What you mean?” Damien asked while pushing two giant pieces of bacon into his mouth with his fingers.

“You were calling me God, last night.”Michael answered, barely hiding his grin behind the tea cup.

“Har har har.” Damien took a huge sip from the coffee, then continued. “So…” He sat down, his eyes finally open; awake and alert, not looking at Michael but trained at somewhere right behind his shoulder. “We're not gonna go on as if nothing happened.” He asked, voice faltering toward the end.

“Unless that's what you want.” Michael answered sincerely.

“Nah.” Damien said with a shrug. “It was a very good night; forgetting'd be a waste.” He shoved a big piece of sausage to his mouth, then continued; obviously not caring about dining etiquette. “As long as it's not the drugs that's talking.”

Michael scoffed, “It's not like I'm a drunk virgin who's gonna cry the morning after.”

Damien looked at him finally, “You're exactly like that, buddy. Or have you had sex with men before last night?”

“No, but--”

“Fuck me!” It was a bad 'fuck me’, not a fun one; Michael could tell the difference after hearing them countless times. “And you were, probably still are, under the influence of whatever they--”

“Look at me!” Michael hold his hand on top of the table, squeezing a little in hopes of comfort. “I know I was a bit overwhelming--”

“A bit?” He laughed, “Overwhelming? Try crippling or suffocating.”

“But you were asking for it.” Michael deadpanned; yeah he might be the one who was suffering drug induced lust, but it was Damien who had asked for  **it.** Michael's dick gave a little twitch at the thought, luckily covered by the tablecloth, hidden from Damien.

“Fuck you!” Damien chortled, spewing coffee all over the table. No table manners whatsoever; Michael had slept with a caveman.

“Hey! Jokes aside, I wasn't out of my mind, mate. Really.”

Damien shrugged, his eyes moved toward the large bay window.

“Hey!” Michael tapped Damien's hand, to pull him back, but he just shrugged. “If I give you a head after breakfast would that ease your mind?”

“After the night I had?”

“You act as if I didn't see your boner this morning.” Michael smiled, remembering how much he wanted to touch.

“It's called morning wood for a reason. Jesus!”

“And if it's any consolation, I've thought about… with you… before all of this.” He confessed, not really believing he was capable of sharing it even while doing so.

“Really?” Damien raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious.

“Kerry… She was jealous… of you. Thought you wanted to…” He started, but telling all about their long fights over Kerry’s misfounded jealousy wasn't something he was willing to share. How bad he treated Kerry over her crazy ideas,  because of his guilt over Kate. “I don't know, mate. She had this crazy idea we were doing it away from home.” Damien looked flabbergasted, Michael continued in hurry, “It got me thinking sometimes, but never seriously. I never thought you’d play for both teams.”

Damien didn't respond for a while, drinking his coffee in silence.

“Damien.” Michael was getting restless, not knowing which part of his confession offended the guy.

“She was very observant.” Damien spoke finally, “and I thought I was being discreet.”

“Oh.” He looked at Damien, expecting him bursting in laughter, cracking up with the insane notion of him going after Michael. It didn't happen. Damien turned his attention to the table instead.

Michael had many questions: Since when had Damien had to be discreet? How serious had it been? Was it still going on? Was that the reason for last night's offer and consequent activities? And most importantly, seriously? Really? But Michael couldn't come up with a way to ask them without sounding a smug bastard or worse, an asshole.

“We should go on a holiday.” He suggested instead.

“I think that was the smartest thing you've ever said to me.” was Damien's response after a spell, “Anywhere specific?”

“Not really. I'm open to suggestions.”

“Thailand.” Damien jumped without a delay, “We should go to Thailand.”

“O-kay?”

“Have you been there?”

“No.” Strangely, he hadn't. Section 20 had never business there.

“Awesome.” Damien grinned, “Get ready to make wonderful memories, buddy. Sensational ones.”

“Okay, then.” Michael replied, not that Damien was waiting one, already scheduling a flight on his phone.

“I have a good feeling about this, buddy. Trust me.”

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm a horrible human being sending them to Thailand after what they've been through. Hopefully Locke would leave them alone.
> 
> As I mentioned in the beginning notes, this chapter was hard. I've written two other ending: 
> 
> 1 They were honestly talking about their feelings and shit (yeah, that didn't work). Damien had plans to starts a private security firm focusing on finding missing persons. (Michael pointed out that fantasies based on tv shows were not really considered as plans, especially only things that Damien planned was the sexiness of their customers.)
> 
> 2 They used smut to avoid talking about feelings, (Damien refused to play along this time if you can believe it, not a team player that one.)
> 
> So we ended up with this, awkward discussions, half assed confessions and avoidance. I'm sorry.


End file.
